


Thorn, A Sylvari's Tale - Chapter 6

by Mozu



Category: Guild Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozu/pseuds/Mozu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Guild Wars 2 novel in progress.</p><p>Apologies for the wonky formatting - you can read the whole thing, properly formatted, over at http://bearzusmash.wordpress.com/thorn/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorn, A Sylvari's Tale - Chapter 6

**THORN, A SYLVARI’S TALE – Chapter 6**

**S.E. OFSTEIN**

Divinity's Reach rose from the cliffs along the coast, a colossal testament to the perseverance of man even in these dark times. The city had loomed on the horizon for days, dominating the landscape, a shining ivory beacon in the distance. Mozu marveled at the titanic effort it must have taken the humans to create such an incredible fortress.

Linebaugh seemed to read her mind as they stood before the massive gates to the city and gazed up at the ramparts and parapets far overhead. He squinted and frowned. "An' yet, tha dragons would sweep it all into tha sea as if they were just brushin' some pest aside." He made a swatting motion with one hand and strode ahead.

The guards barely glanced at them as they passed through the towering gates with their dolyak and cart in tow. Haitei had disappeared into the countryside the previous day, and Mozu was glad to be spared one less parting, as much as she would miss his almost constant presence. She fell behind, hesitating for a brief moment, and her heart sank as she took her first steps upon the cobblestones of the Plaza of Dwayna.

Her journey was at its end—she and Linebaugh would part ways for half a year, and she would be entrusted to the care of a complete stranger as if she were a child in need of a foster home. Linebaugh would continue on to adventure—for which she was jealous—and, no doubt, great danger as well. She was terrified that this would be the last time she would see his weathered face, a face that she had come to know better than her own.

The bustle of the city quickly distracted Mozu from her ruminations, however, and she gawked like the proverbial country rube. Colorful banners and pennants hung everywhere, waving and snapping in the breeze. Rows of hawkers lined the main avenue, selling a wild array of food and goods as they shouted to passersby. Well-dressed humans mingled with fully armored charr soldiers. Norn and asura stood side by side, enjoying a meal and a mug of ale together.

Mozu spied a pale, barklike face in the crowd and unconsciously hid behind Linebaugh, the sudden idea of meeting another of her own kind making her anxious, and her worries suddenly came back to her in a rush.

The riot of noise and color, and the press of the crowd quickly became overwhelming. She took a deep, shuddering breath and reached out to hold Linebaugh's shirt tail in one hand as she kept her eyes on the stones beneath her feet. Soon, they made their way out of the main thoroughfare and into quieter parts of the city.

"You okay?" He peered over his shoulder. Mozu shook her head, and he took her hand.

When she finally looked up again, they were surrounded by opulent townhouses and manors, and drew more than a few stares from the district's residents. Mozu and Linebaugh came to a stop before a tall three-storey townhouse with a high, peaked roof. A guilded wrought-iron sign hung next to the front door.

 

_Atelier Weatherby_

 

Linebaugh tried to sound cheerful even as he sighed heavily, "Well, this is the place." Mozu was puzzled by the sign, but followed him up the worn marble steps to the heavy wooden door. He reached for the brass door knocker when the portal opened to reveal a severe-looking woman in an amethyst dress. She smiled and beckoned them inside.

Linebaugh squeezed through the doorframe, and Mozu was surprised to find that he could stand comfortably beneath the ten-foot ceilings. "Welcome, Mr. Linebaugh. Cordelia will be with you momentarily. Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm good. Moz?"

"Um, no, thank you," she replied and forced a smile.

“Well, this way, then.” The woman led them into an adjoining chamber off the entryway.

Mozu's eyes swept over the room with its ornately patterned carpeting, beautifully carved wood and velvet furniture, and the myriad artworks hung upon the walls or scattered about the floor and shelves. She plucked at the plain linen tunic she wore tucked into a pair of patched leather breeches. Mozu didn't pretend to have a good grasp of the monetary value of things, but was fairly sure that the contents of this room were worth more than Linebaugh's house and all of their possessions.

She also found the room completely disorienting after spending more than half a year in Heimdall's Lament. Mozu had gotten so used to the size of the norn, and their furniture and trappings, that she felt as if she were peering into a dollhouse.

Noticing her discomfort, the woman extended a hand to the sylvari with a friendly smile. "You must be Miss Mozu. I'm Meredith Barclay, Cordelia's personal assistant. If you need anything during your stay with us, please, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. That's, uh, very kind of you." Mozu managed.

"And you, Mr. Linebaugh,” she turned, “how have you been?"

He shrugged, "Eh. Can't complain."

Meredith hesitated, expecting more, but the closed-mouthed ranger seemed as uncomfortable as Mozu in the current surroundings.

"Well . . . please, have a seat. I'll see if I can move Cordelia along."

Mozu made a vain attempt to look presentable as she heard hard-soled shoes approaching the sitting room. Linebaugh put down an expensive-looking vase and stepped away from it quickly.

Cordelia Weatherby swept into the room in a flowing silk gown the color of blood. Long, dark hair tumbled down her back in waves and framed a plain, yet lovely face. While no longer a young woman, she still was many, many years from spinsterhood, and she held herself with a confidence and poise that Mozu was instantly painfully jealous of. She beamed, and her smile practically lit the room as she welcomed them to her home. Cordelia and Mozu’s eyes met for a split second, and the sylvari took a step back despite herself.

The woman's intense green eyes suddenly made Mozu regret not saying a proper goodbye to Haitei—not that the great cat would have understood anyway, but still—and she also couldn’t help but think of the imposing Snow Leopard shaman, Yngvildr.

"Hansi!" Cordelia exclaimed as she threw her arms about the ranger.

"Hiya, Miz." He hugged her back gently. "Ya didn't have ta get all dolled up fer us."

"Nonsense! It's been ages, and besides . . ." She took Mozu's hands, greeting her in a sweet and slightly husky voice, "It's very good to meet you, Mozu. Hansi was quite generous with his praise in the letters he sent, and I simply couldn't wait to meet you for myself." The smile never left the woman's face, but her eyes glittered dangerously for a moment. "I'm Cordelia Weatherby."

"Pleased to . . . make your acquaintance."

Cordelia laughed and released Mozu. "Hansi, you old dog. You never mentioned that she was so pretty.” She held a hand up above her head. “Or so tall."

Mozu stared at her feet as an indigo flush came to her cheeks.

"Tall?” he snorted. “Can't say as I noticed. Yer lookin' well, Miz." Linebaugh looked around the room meaningfully. "Guessin' business ain't too bad."

"It certainly keeps me busy. Let's not stand here, however. Follow me,” Cordelia beckoned. “I've had the study prepared for you, Mozu. It doesn’t get used much these days, and will be your room for the duration of your stay, so feel free to use it as you see fit."

As they made for the stairs in Cordelia's wake, they passed by a large and cluttered room off to one side, and Mozu peered inside curiously.

"You're a seamstress?" she asked.

"Dressmaker, dear," Cordelia corrected.

"Makes about as much sense as a messenger, I suppose," Mozu mumbled under her breath.

"Sorry?"

"I said, ‘Your house is lovely.’"

"Why, thank you. It always seems to be a work in progress, though, and without Meredith around . . . well, I shudder to think."

The third floor was given over to two huge rooms—one, Cordelia’s master bedroom, the other a study lined with bookshelves. A bed had been placed in an alcove by a pair of windows, and a dresser and wardrobe stood nearby.

"I hope this will be alright.” Cordelia ushered them inside.

"No, it's wonderful. Thank you." All of this forced politeness and civility was starting to grate on Mozu. She dropped her pack next to the door.

"Hansi, I assume you'll be staying the night?" Cordelia beamed at him again.

He shook his head. "Maybe dinner, then I wanna get a move-on." Cordelia frowned for a moment before her congenial expression returned.

"Well, before I let you both relax, there's one more thing I wanted to show you. This way,” she beckoned again. “It might be a bit of a tight squeeze."

Cordelia climbed a smaller staircase at the end of the hall and unlocked door at the top. Mozu groped her way up into the carpeted attic in the pitch black, and she could hear Linebaugh cursing and grunting as he tried to fit through the doorway. "What tha hell, Miz?"

The dressmaker struck a match and set it to the wick of an oil lamp that rested upon a fantastically ornate desk. As the flame grew, it revealed the attic space. Linebaugh closed the door behind him.

The walls were draped in swaths of red, black, and golden cloth, and much like Linebaugh's secret room, they were lined with bookshelves and scrolls as well. A single weapon rack stood near the desk, bearing an array of deadly tools, but the thing that stunned both norn and sylvari alike was the carpet itself.

It covered the entire floor of the peaked attic room. A lustrous, jewel-like crimson, it was plush and deep, and bore a huge representation of the golden symbol of the Order of Whispers that was at least as long as Linebaugh was tall.

"Holy shit, Miz," Linebaugh whistled as he looked around the room. "Subtle."

"Oh, shut up." Cordelia flopped down in the padded leather chair in a very unladylike manner and put her feet up on the corner of the desk, revealing shapely legs. She kicked her shoes off.

"Now then," Cordelia began in a businesslike voice as she reached over and picked up a few small sheets of paper from the desk, all traces of her earlier sweetness and hospitality gone. She rifled through the notes quickly, and tossed them aside again. "Mozu. Linebaugh waxed nearly poetic in his praise and estimation of you, and he seems very sure that you're Order material. I, however, don't know you from your dolyak outside, and you will need to prove to me that you're a good candidate.

“You'll be here under my care for the next six months, give or take. In that time, you will train, and you will perform tasks for me. Some, you won't understand. Perhaps you'll leave a bouquet of flowers upon a certain grave. Perhaps you'll browse a bookseller's wares and ask after a particular title. Or perhaps I'll ask you to make someone disappear.”

"Hansi has already revealed us both as agents, the fool,” Cordelia glared at him momentarily, “but I promise you that if your initiation doesn't work out for whatever reason, you'll be free to go, unmolested. Blow our cover, however, and we _will_ bring the full might of the Order down upon you, and you life will be forfeit.

"On top of all that,” she put her hands together, “we'll turn you into something resembling a lady—at least in public."

Mozu looked back at Linebaugh who leaned against the wall next to the door for some sign as to how she should react to this. He smirked and drawled, "If you thought I was a hardass—" and regretted his words instantly as a heavy blade buried itself in the soft wood inches from his head. Cordelia smoothed her skirt back down over her knees and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"I haven't actually agreed to join your little club," Mozu reminded the woman.   
"And I haven't invited you,” she pointed out. “I merely asked if you would perform various tasks for me, and generally follow my orders. If not," Cordelia waved a hand dismissively and smirked as well, "perhaps we can teach you to be a _seamstress_ instead."

Mozu was close to telling the woman where she could shove her tasks and her dressmaking and her condescending tone, but instead, she took a deep breath and looked to Linebaugh again. He turned the throwing knife over and over in his hands and nodded at her. She met Cordelia's gaze unflinchingly and shrugged.

"Consider me your errand girl."

Cordelia stood, and Mozu couldn’t help but notice how she curled her toes in the luxurious carpet as she leaned against the desk. "I hope to consider you a colleague, as well, someday. For Hansi to go on like this," she gestured at the discarded papers on her desk, "is surprising, to say the least. If you live up to even half of his expectations . . ." Cordelia smiled genuinely again and clapped her hands together.

"Enough for now. I imagine you're both exhausted, and judging by the smell, in desperate need of a bath."

 

They ate a simple dinner seated around a butcher block table in the large kitchen. Mozu and Cordelia were wrapped in thick cotton robes, while Linebaugh had changed back into his traveling clothes. An awkward silence hung over the table, and Mozu felt as if she were about to scream.

Instead, she inquired, “Hansi?”

Linebaugh looked up from his plate at her, and back down again. “Hans Linebaugh. Only Miz calls me that, anyhow, and she likes ta cute-ifiy it.” He scowled and pondered something for a second. “Guess that never came up, huh?”

Mozu turned to Cordelia, who, to Mozu’s annoyance, somehow even ate gracefully. “Miz?”

Cordelia finished chewing and replied, “Short for Misericorde. My code name. Linebaugh seems determined to never call me by my proper name, so there you have it.”

“Cordelia. Happy now?” he replied with no small amount of sarcasm.

“You have code names?” Briefly, anyway, Mozu’s mind fled from the thoughts and worries that had plagued her all day. She tried to imagine _spy stuff_ but drew a blank. Cordelia nodded.

“What’s yours then, _Hansi_?” Mozu asked innocently, and the woman laughed as Linebaugh scowled again.

“Ugh. Maybe it’s a bad idea ta put you two together.” Cordelia reached across the table and gave him a playful shove, and Linebaugh answered Mozu’s question. “Wanderer.”

Her head filled with images of sand and rocks and glaring, unrelenting sunlight, and she imagined Linebaugh and his faithful companion creeping stealthily through canyons and crevasses—all very, very far away from her. Mozu’s face fell, and she returned her attention to her dinner.

Cordelia and Linebaugh exchanged a meaningful look as they finished up, and Linebaugh stood slowly. “I, uh, I oughta get goin’. Long road ahead an’ whatnot, not ta mention I gotta find that stupid cat . . .” He trailed off, watching Mozu.

She slid from the tall chair, and with a heroic effort, tried to keep her composure. Mozu would be damned if she’d shed a tear in front of this woman.

She managed a solid ten seconds or so until Linebaugh engulfed her in his arms and held her close. He didn’t say a word—just rested a cheek upon her head. Mozu shook with silent sobs as she squeezed him with every ounce of strength she had, maybe imparting her own strength to him, or maybe just hoping that she could hold on so tightly that he could never leave.

Finally, he broke the embrace, and held her at arms’ length. “I’ll be back afore ya know it. Then we’ll head on home. I love ya, lass.”    

Mozu could only nod and cry as she stood there, feeling like a fool and a child, but also feeling as if her life and her foundation were being yanked out from under her, and the prospect was horrifying.

Cordelia showed Linebaugh to the door, and gave him a wide-eyed look. “Wow.”

“I know. She’s a good kid, take care o’ her.”

“I will. Take care of yourself, old man, and be safe.”

Linebaugh hesitated for a moment with his hand on the doorknob as he listened. “Yeh. Well. I gotta go afore I end up doin’ that myself. G’bye, Miz. See ya soon.”

The door closed behind him with a gentle click, and Cordelia sighed heavily. When she returned to the kitchen, Mozu was nowhere to be seen, until she spied slippered feet peeking out from underneath the table.

Cordelia crouched down. Mozu sat beneath, hugging her knees to her chest. “Is there room under there for me, too?” she asked. Mozu raised her head and nodded, and Cordelia scooted beneath the table, to sit with her back against Mozu’s.

“You have no idea how good Hansi is at what he does,” Cordelia said quietly after a few minutes of silence and sniffles. “As far as we know, he’s the _only_ person to make it in and out of Elona in a very long time—and he’s come and gone a number of times over the years.”

Mozu remained silent, and Cordelia made a face. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she apologized, “This is all a bit . . . unusual for me as well.”

“I know, and I really do appreciate what you’re doing,” Mozu hiccupped. “It’s just—” She couldn’t find the words to finish.

“How about we move to the other room and have a glass of wine?” Cordelia suggested. “This floor is killing me.” She bumped her head against the table as she stood, and cursed. There was a quiet snicker from below the tabletop, and another sniffle.

“I’m too embarrassed to come out now.”    

Cordelia extended her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

Mozu awoke completely disoriented, flailing about as she sat bolt upright. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, and she gazed around the room. Pulling a corner of the curtains aside, she was surprised to see that it was still dark out, and fell back onto her pillow with a thud.

She lay, staring at the tall ceilings in the darkness for a while as a thousand thoughts raced through her head. Eventually she abandoned her hopes of getting any more sleep, and rose to light the oil lamp that sat on a small table nearby.

As quietly as she could manage, Mozu began to unpack her belongings and put them away.

_Is this all my life really is? Hand-me-down clothing, a bow, and a spear?_

She ran a hand along the shaft of the weapon standing upright in the corner. A gift from Olaf Gunnarson before she left Heimdall’s Lament and her friends behind, it bore a long and wickedly sharp wasp-wasted blade encased in a delicately carved wooden sheath.

Mozu set the sheath aside and spun the weapon slowly, end over end, her fingers twirling. Her left hand gripped the shaft after a few revolutions, and she brandished the spear at an imaginary enemy who lurked within the shadows cast by the tentative flame of the lamp.

There was the faintest of knocks on her door. Mozu quickly shrugged into a huge linen shirt that reached nearly to her knees and reached for the wooden sheath. “Come in?” she called.

Cordelia peeked into the room. Her hair was a mess and she looked half awake. “I thought I heard—“ she blinked at the spear-wielding sylvari in surprise. “I could get you a Do Not Disturb sign if you’d prefer.”

Mozu quickly covered the blade and set the weapon back in its corner, all the while looking quite embarrassed. “Did I wake you?” she asked in a half-whisper.

Cordelia slipped into the room and rubbed her hands together, pulling her robe closer about her. “No, no. I couldn’t sleep either. I thought I heard you up and about, so I thought I’d see if you were up for a little stroll.”

As far as Mozu could tell through the heavy curtains, the sun was still well below the horizon. “Sure,” she answered hesitantly.

“Great. I’ll meet you downstairs in about ten minutes. Wear something dark.” Cordelia turned back as she was closing the door behind her and waved a hand dismissively toward the corner of the room. “Maybe leave that here, though.”

Even though there was no one in the townhouse beside herself and Cordelia, Mozu still crept down the stairs to the darkened entryway. Cordelia was engulfed in a heavy black cloak, and only her mouth and chin were visible beneath the hood. She eyed Mozu—dressed in her leathers, a long dagger in a sheath at her back.

“Huh. That’ll do nicely.”

They crept through the predawn streets of Divinity’s Reach, and Cordelia quietly pointed out ways that Mozu could place her feet to minimize noise, and showed her how best to stick to the shadows as inconspicuously as possible.

“You need some work, for sure,” she clucked her tongue, “but at least you’re not a complete beginner.”

Mozu scowled behind her back, recalling the many hours she’d spent in the forests of the north, stalking game, and occasionally men.           

They stopped at a corner and pressed themselves against the building, listening to the sound of heavy boots in the distance. Cordelia pulled her cloak tightly about her, and she rested her hooded head against the masonry.

“I don’t see it very often these days, but I love this time of the morning.” She turned and grinned at Mozu. “It feels like the whole city belongs to me. You should see the streets when it snows. Everyone flees indoors, and the nights are so quiet that all you can hear is the hiss of the falling snow and the sound of your own breathing.”

Embarrassment of her own slowly registered on Cordelia’s face. “Anyway,” she turned away and gestured, “let’s keep moving.”

Mozu had expected that their surreptitious excursion would end at some den of iniquity or other, and was more than a little surprised when they arrived at a small bakery. The smell made her mouth water, and the warmth inside the tiny shop with its glowing windows felt heavenly after slinking through the chill of the early spring morning.

They made their way home just as stealthily, their spoils hidden away beneath Cordelia’s cloak, and Mozu pretended that she were the one infiltrating Elona, wending through caves and hidden paths only she knew.

The sky had begun to lighten when they returned to the townhouse. Cordelia retreated to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee as Mozu tossed her boots aside and collapsed onto one of the sitting room couches.

“I don’t know about you," she heard Cordelia call down the hallway, "but I’m getting back into my pajamas.”

Wrapped in their bathrobes, feet tucked securely under the warm blankets, they sat propped upon Cordelia’s bed munching on a pair of raspberry pastries, occasionally sipping at their coffee.

Cordelia rubbed her hands across her face. “Gods, I am not ready for today.”

“Why? What’s today?”

“ _The Baroness Van Holsten_ ,” she replied in a completely ridiculous and haughty voice.

“Aha.” Mozu laughed.

“She’s coming about a new dress. The Van Holstens are hosting a big to-do at the tail end of summer, and she _simply muuuuust have a spectacular gown for the occaaaasion_.

"I schedule her this far in advance because the appointments go something like this: First, we go up to the second floor and look through literally every bolt of cloth there. All the while she _tsk-tsks_ and says _No, no, this will never do_ , so, of course I have to special order fabric, which must be just the right color to match her gaudy jewelry, and inevitably have to cancel the order in another month, as she's acquired some new, even more hideous piece that she _simply must wear instead,_ and I order fabric once again.   

"Then, of course, the seed pearls are all _far too irregular,_ and _couldn't we use thread made of puuuuure gold?_

"Lucky me, invited as well—I get to rub elbows with the rich and powerful, captains of industry and nobility alike, while all the ladies tell me how much they just _love_ my work.” Cordelia raised an eyebrow as she stared off into the distance. “I suppose I should work on that turning-you-into-a-lady thing quickly so that I can drag you along as well. No sense in my suffering alone.

"Wow, I am a huge bitch this morning. Sorry."

Mozu laughed again.

“First things first though—let’s split another pastry.”

As they stood in the kitchen, Mozu jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “So, I don’t mean to be rude, but . . . what’s with the whole seamstress business anyway?”

Cordelia gave her a wry smile and explained, “When Linebaugh was chosen for his current job, I realized that I wasn’t up to the task of trying to connect with a new partner, so I moved into intelligence and gave up being a field agent.” She waved a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, most of our agents work solo normally—but I just needed a change, so here I am. Miss Cordelia Weatherby, well-to-do _dressmaker,_ ” she stressed the word,” to the noble and wealthy.”

Mozu cocked her head. “Huh.”

“Stereotypes generally have some nugget of truth to them, no matter how tiny,” Cordelia explained. “Generally speaking, these ladies _love_ to talk, and _love_ to gossip. Many of them also like a bit of drink. These appointments—material selection, design, fittings, and so on—can last for hours, so we talk, and we gossip.

“ Meredith or I ply them with a bit of wine, tongues loosen, and the Order gets snippets of information that they would be at a loss to collect otherwise. The women in actual positions of power are a bit tougher, but . . . I manage, and they occasionally let slip much bigger things.”

“That sounds,” Mozu searched for the right word, “elaborate.”

“Quite, but it has been very valuable to the Order, and I actually enjoy what I do, even if I don’t always enjoy the people.” Cordelia sipped at her coffee. “I’ll probably continue to do this even after I retire, although probably for people of more modest means.”

She watched as a sunbeam from the windows of the reception area crawled slowly across the dark, wooden floors toward the open doorway of the kitchen.

“Hell. I should get dressed before Meredith shows up and throws a fit, and my assistant will be here soon as well. I hate to do this, but you’re on your own until evening. Go explore the city a bit. I’d tell you to take something from my closets to wear, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t fit you.”

At nearly six feet, Mozu stood a few inches taller than Cordelia, and was both broader at the shoulder and smaller across the chest.

“Oh! There’s a wonderful little clothing shop in the next district over! You should—” Cordelia stopped herself, laughing at the look of vague horror on Mozu’s face as the sylvari contemplated the idea. “We’ll go together tomorrow. Do you need any money?”

“No. Thank you, though. Linebaugh gave me some before we left. Er, a lot, actually.”

“Wonderful. If you get lost, just ask any of the city watch for directions. You can’t miss them. You might even find a particularly handsome one to escort you.” Cordelia set her mug down on the counter and rubbed at her face again. “Okay, Miz, let’s just get through this.”

She blinked hard a few times, obviously trying to clear out the cobwebs. “Let’s go out for dinner later as a treat. I think I’ll deserve it.”

As she disappeared up the stairs, Mozu refilled her own mug and sat at the table for a bit, chin propped up on one hand. The earlier energy and elation she’d felt while creeping through the shadows of the deserted streets had vanished about the time she’d put the warm and cozy robe on.

For the life of her, she had no idea what to make of Cordelia. She’d seemed so businesslike and cold the day before, yet this morning she had obviously shared something personal with Mozu—more than one something, come to think of it—and seemed almost shy after that for a time.

Meredith let herself in, greeting Mozu cheerfully as she passed by the kitchen. Mozu raised her coffee mug in a half-assed salutation, and dragged herself upstairs to her room. She pawed through her clothing to find something nicer than she had showed up in the day before, and glanced at the deep blue leathers that lay slung across the back of chair, considering them. She shook her head and kept looking. 

 

Mozu spent most of the afternoon reading through a copy of Lassiter’s _The Flora and Faunae of Kryta_ at a small café not far from Cordelia’s townhouse—or _home_ as she should probably get used to calling it, she thought to herself.

The book itself was interesting enough, but she was absolutely delighted by the full color prints within and pored over them as she sipped at a mug of hot chocolate.

That evening, they lingered over dinner with martinis. Mozu had never encountered gin before, and found it fascinating. She was barely done with her first while Corderlia was attempting to flag down a waiter and order a third.

“So, rough day, then?” Mozu asked a bit timidly. The restaurant was completely bewildering to her, and she had been afraid all throughout the meal that she would break one of the glasses or spill something on the pristine, white linen tablecloth. “That’s what they’re there for,” Cordelia had commented with a shrug when Mozu splashed a bit of wine onto the table while laughing at a snarky comment that Cordelia had made. She had worked herself into a bit of a panic over it.

“Ugh,” was her only reply. Cordelia looked tired—more tired than Mozu felt, even running on only a few hours of sleep with a rich meal and a fairly strong cocktail in her. She had given up on another drink, and Mozu slid a glass of water across the table to her. Cordelia looked at it reproachfully, yet picked it up and drank deeply all the same.

“Let’s go,” she grumbled as she set the empty glass down, “I’m done for.”

They paid the bill and walked slowly back toward home. When they arrived, Cordelia stalked up the stairs without a word and slammed the door to her bedroom. Mozu flinched.

She made her way to the kitchen and prepared herself a cup of tea, which she took back to her room with her. Stripping off her clothing and slipping into the oversized shirt again, she selected an illustrated anthology of children’s stories and climbed under the covers with it. Her eyelids began to droop shortly, and she nodded off, only to awaken with a start at the sound of Cordelia retching across the hall.

She opened the door to Cordelia’s bedchamber to find her hunched over a porcelain washbowl. Mozu rubbed her back, waiting for Cordelia to finish, all the while fighting to keep down her own dinner.

Gagging, she carried the bowl down to the kitchen to dump the contents into the sink. She filled the bowl with water and left it there, then made another cup of tea and grabbed a package of biscuits from the pantry.

“I don’t feel good,” was all Cordelia said as Mozu pressed the tea into her hands. She sipped at it for a bit when Mozu asked her, “A bit better now?”

Mozu couldn’t contain a laugh as Cordelia nodded, her lower lip sticking out slightly. She held out the package of biscuits. “Eat some.”

Cordelia nibbled at a cookie and drank her tea as Mozu settled down on the bed next to her. Mozu dozed off for a bit, and jerked awake suddenly. “Ok, I gotta do bed thing." She tried to work up the energy to stumble back to her own room. "You gonna be okay?”

“Stay,” Cordelia mumbled into her pillow. She slid over, and Mozu climbed beneath the covers, absolutely exhausted.

She yelped as Cordelia put her icy cold feet against the back of Mozu’s calves.

“Hee hee. Warm.”

 

Sunlight poured into the room as Meredith opened the curtains. Mozu and Cordelia awoke blearily and glared at the woman.

        “Good morning, you two! Had quite the slumber party last night, eh?” She swept through the room like a whirlwind, gathering laundry and soiled towels, and was gone again.

        Cordelia looked around the room and her eyes settled on the washbowl, back in its usual spot on the dresser, sparkling clean.

        “Hey, look!” She pointed, speaking in a squeaky, hoarse voice. “It’s my World’s Shittiest Host award! Yay, me!” She threw her hands up in the air in mock celebration.

        “We’ve all been there,” Mozu murmured, and fell back asleep. Cordelia, too, was asleep again within minutes.

About an hour later, Meredith woke them again. “Go ‘way or I fire you,” Cordelia mumbled as she tucked her head beneath the covers. Soon, they rose and bathed, and eventually made their way down to the kitchen. Meredith gave them both a stern look.

Mozu pointed at Cordelia. “Hey, she’s the one that drank too much. I’m just tired.”

 

Over the next few weeks they settled into a routine of rigorous training, inexplicable tasks and errands, and occasional shenanigans.

Linebaugh hadn’t been kidding. If they weren’t training hand-to-hand combat, then it was weapons practice; if it wasn’t weapons, then it was late-night or early-morning infiltration (or “sneaking” as Mozu called it) lessons.

Cordelia had also kept her promise—threat, more like, Mozu commented more than once—of trying to turn the wild sylvari girl into a proper young lady. Diction, posture, table manners, which fork was for what, proper greetings, how to make small talk, and the absolute worst thing of all, learning to walk in heels. Mozu would have preferred lessons in resisting torture and interrogation.

Eventually, she had to admit that she liked the dresses and jewelry part, at least, and her wardrobe expanded considerably. Mozu felt an inexplicable thrill as she turned a few heads in a short, slinky black dress that Cordelia had picked out for one of their nights out on the town.

Somehow, in between all of this, Cordelia still found time to work, although she was forced to hire a second assistant to keep up with the orders for the end-of-summer ball at the Van Holstens’.

Mozu crept quietly down the stairs as her patron slept in one morning, and out through the back door of the kitchen, barefoot and wearing a plain, roughspun skirt and blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She stood in the tiny, fenced-in back yard, surveying the long-neglected raised wooden flower beds. Somehow, even the weeds had died of neglect. Mozu wouldn’t even set foot in the greenhouse, it was such a disaster.

She nodded a greeting to Meredith, who appeared with a basket of laundry to hang. “Going to try and make something out of all this?” the woman pointed with her chin at the dried tangle of plants.

“I was considering it.”

Meredith put the now-empty laundry basket down and took Mozu by the arm. The sylvari looked down in surprise.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Meredith whispered. “I think Cordelia needed a friend.”

And with that, she was gone. Mozu blinked at the kitchen door and put her hands on her hips as she pondered the flower beds again.

 

“Study the floor plan. Commit it to memory. I want you to be able to draw it for me perfectly at a moment’s notice. This,” Cordelia shoved another paper in front of Mozu’s face, “is the safe combination. Commit that to memory as well. I will quiz you on the numbers as well.”

Mozu sat at the desk in the attic room, while Cordelia leaned over her shoulder and briefed her. In a week’s time, Mozu was expected to break into—“ _infiltrate_ ,” Cordelia corrected—a certain mansion across the district. Within the manor’s library was a hidden safe behind a small and unremarkable painting hung near the fireplace. Within the safe was a document that the Order needed to lay eyes upon.

She was being tasked to break in ( _infiltrate_ ), and steal ( _acquire_ ) the document, of which she had been given a rough description, then break in ( _infiltrate!_ ) again the next night and return it with no one the wiser. Mozu understood why the preparation was necessary but found it incredibly tedious all the same, and was anxious to just get on with it.

In the following days, Mozu had drawn and redrawn the map at least three dozen times, and was almost used to Cordelia asking her to recite the safe combination on command at all manner of strange times.

Finally, however, the wait was over. Mozu was dressed in her leathers again, omnipresent dagger at her back, and a small satchel slung across her chest. Cordelia had fussed the entire evening, and Mozu hovered somewhere between bemused and annoyed. Cordelia continued giving her advice even as Mozu was stepping out the back door.

She grabbed Cordelia in a rough embrace, hugging her tightly. “Enough already,” Mozu laughed as Cordelia’s arms snaked around her. She couldn’t help thinking that Cordelia smelled of flowers and rare spices and sweat, and released her awkwardly. “I’ll be back soon,” Mozu said after a long pause.

“Be safe.”

Mozu threw her a casual salute with two fingers, and headed for the cluttered and unused greenhouse. She shoved a few bags of soil aside, and lifted the trap door. A long, winding tunnel led her far from home to exit at the far end of a sewer line. Mozu replaced the well-disguised panel, and tried to ignore the stench as she crept carefully along the narrow walkway.

She nearly laughed aloud as she skirted the small estate. Mozu and Cordelia had already decided on an ingress, but they hadn’t counted on the simple fact that a servant might leave a kitchen window open accidentally.

Across marble floors and expensive rugs she padded—after wiping her boots on the doormat of the kitchen, of course—and  into the high-ceilinged library. She couldn’t hear a single sound in the house, except for the snoring of a servant on the lower level.

Taking a moment to look around, she marveled at the place and ran gloved fingers across a row of book spines. Cordelia’s home was, to her, a small palace, and Mozu couldn’t imagine the kind of money it would take to live like this.

She slipped the ugly painting from its hook and regarded the small safe, and had a moment of panic when she suddenly couldn’t remember the combination. She remained there, frozen in place, as she tried to recall dinner, and Cordelia being a huge pain in the ass the entire time, so much so that she nearly walked away from the table with her dinner half finished.

Recalling the woman’s overly serious tone and petulant glare as Mozu had shoved herself away from the table made her giggle quietly in the dim moonlight of the room, and she dialed the combination in.

Ignoring the velvet jewelry boxes, she removed the small folder within and unwound the string holding it closed. She scanned the documents quickly, holding them up to the wan light until she found what she was looking for, and tried to make a mental note of the order in which the documents had been filed.

Mozu slid the parchment into a stiff, leather folder of similar design, which she secreted away in the satchel again after tying it closed. Back into the safe went the remaining documents, the safe was closed and locked, and the ugly painting was placed back in its rightful spot.

She turned after her feet hit the grass and quietly closed the kitchen window, hoping no one would notice that it was unlocked during the day. Having taken a look at the quality of the kitchen door lock, however, she almost hoped that one of the servants did, so that she could put some of her other skills to work.

When Mozu came through the back door, Cordelia was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a book she wasn’t really reading. She jumped from her chair, nearly knocking it over.

“In, out, no problems whatsoever—the package is out of our hands and will be waiting at the dead drop tomorrow night,” she briefed Cordelia before her mentor could even ask.

Relief was obvious on Cordelia’s face as she climbed back into the chair and leaned back. Mozu put an arm around her shoulders and Cordelia leaned against her. “Worrywart,” she teased.

“Shush. Go get changed so we can have a drink.”

“Why, I don’t look good enough to drink with in these?” Mozu looked down at herself.

“Just go,” Cordelia sighed.

The next night, Mozu discovered that picking a lock in the safety of a friend’s home was one thing, but doing it where the threat of arrest or death were very real was another thing altogether.

She wiped sweat from her brow for the fourth time, and cursed silently at the lock. While there was another, probably easier way into the manor on a second-floor balcony, Mozu refused to leave until this lock yielded to her.

_Or I’m found out._

A sudden click seemed like the sweetest sound she’d ever heard, and she pushed the door open, breathing a huge sigh of relief. Mozu once again stole silently into the library, only realizing as she removed the painting from the wall again how badly her hands were shaking.

Safely back home, Mozu entered though the kitchen door without a word, and sat heavily in one of the chairs as she stripped off her gloves. Cordelia watched her, silent and wide-eyed, and Mozu rubbed a hand across her face.

“Done,” she finally informed Cordelia, exasperated.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Now, anyway.” She held out a still-shaking hand.

Cordelia’s brows slowly inched toward one another. “What happened?”

“Trouble with a stubborn lock.”

“Why didn’t you go for another entry?”

“Trouble with a stubborn girl.”

Cordelia reached across the table to pick up one of Mozu’s gloves and give her a playful whack with it.          

“Next time, just move on.”

“Yeah,” Mozu pursed her lips and blew a huge sigh of relief. “Yeah, I think I’ll do just that.”

“Well done, though. Really.”

“This shit is really stressful, isn’t it,” she said, more statement than question.

Cordelia smirked. “There’s a reason we’re all borderline alcoholics.”

Mozu laughed as she rose from the chair. “I need a long soak. Back in a while.”

“Do you want me to bring you a drink?” Cordelia called up the stairs after she straightened up the kitchen.

“What do you think?” came the reply from the bath.

 

Mozu climbed into the attic room and closed the door behind her. “I got your note. What’s up?”

Cordelia sat at her desk, feet propped up on an open drawer. She gnawed absently at the wooden stem of a fountain pen as she looked through a sheaf of papers. “Hmm?”

Mozu peered over her shoulder. “Stop that,” she admonished.

Cordelia looked up in surprise. “Oh, hi.” She glanced at the pen, and held it up toward Mozu. “Why? Relative of yours?”

Mozu cuffed her gently. “What’s up?”

Cordelia was leafing through the documents again, and gestured toward the weapon rack next to the desk with the pen. “Do you know how to use one of those?” she asked distractedly.

“The sword? Yeah, why?”

Cordelia looked at her irritably. “No, the rifle. The rifle.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Mozu picked up the long, slender weapon, pulled the bolt back to make sure the chamber was empty, slammed it home, and peered through the scope at a spot on the far wall. She squeezed the trigger with a soft, metallic click.

“Good, good,” Cordelia mumbled.

Mozu put the rifle back on its stand and yanked the papers from her hand.

“Hey!”

“Hey, nothing. You left a note that you wanted to see me up here. Could you actually take a minute and tell me why?”

“Do you know how to use one of those?” Cordelia pointed at the rifle again.

Mozu stared at her for a long moment.

“I just asked you that, didn’t I?”

She nodded.

“We have a job. Or, I do, but I’d like you along as a spotter.”

“What’s that?”

Cordelia struck like a snake, snatching the papers back from Mozu. The sylvari crossed her arms angrily. “I swear, if you start ignoring me again, I’ll hit you.”

`“Okay, okay.” She set the sheaf of documents aside. “Can I assume it was Linebaugh that taught you to shoot?”

“Actually, he had the exact same rifle, as far as I can tell . . . but I guess that makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“You’d be doing his job, then—what he did when you went shooting with him.”

Mozu pondered the statement for a moment. “Calling targets? Telling you where the rounds hit? That sort of thing?”

“Exactly.”

“Uh, okay. Can you actually tell me what the hell’s going on now?”

“The short version is that we have a very dangerous Inquest agent headed to a very public place for a meeting tomorrow evening, and we’ve—I’ve been given a termination order. I’d like you along as my spotter—or to carry out the order if something happens to me.”

Mozu made a face and leaned against the desk.

“If you don’t want to, I can probably call in someone else—“

“Can we get our hands on another rifle? I’d rather be up there with one too, rather than sitting around with a spyglass, just . . . in case. Besides, if he, or whoever he’s meeting, is that high-profile, they may have shooters of their own. I can engage them while you neutralize the target.”

Cordelia boggled at her.

Mozu shrugged. “Linebaugh talks. A lot.”

       

They crouched low, moving swiftly through the shadows and across the rooftops toward the spot they’d chosen earlier that day. Bringing their rifles to bear, they swept the other rooftops and windows from  the cover of a brick chimney set in the shadow of a taller building. 

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Cordelia and Mozu moved into position, dropping a pair of leather beanbags onto which they propped their rifles.

“Good thing there won’t be any witnesses,” Mozu joked quietly. “Oh, wait, there’s about fifty over there.”

“Nice and tidy,” Cordelia snickered.

Mozu kept both eyes open as she peered through the scope and scanned the other rooftops again. Cordelia trained the reticule of her scope on the center mass of a patron of the Maiden’s Whisper who had just stepped outside for a stretch and a breath of fresh air. “Bang,” she whispered under her breath.         

“Anything?” she asked Mozu after a moment.

“We’re in the clear for now. How long until the target arrives?”

“Around ten was the estimate I was given. Let’s assume anywhere between half an hour and an hour from now.”

They were quiet for a while. “I really hate the idea of this sort of thing,” Mozu finally said in a soft voice.

“What, waiting?”

“No.”

Cordelia brought the rifle to her shoulder again, and scanned the area where she planned on making the shot. “I don’t like killing, if that’s what you think, but I’d rather end one bad person and keep them from doing harm to others, and live with it, than sit on my hands and do nothing.”

Mozu recalled saying something very similar a long time ago. Or what felt like a long time ago, at least.

“For the greater good?”

“I suppose you could put it that way.”

Mozu was sweeping the rooftops once more, when Cordelia hissed, “There’s our target. Moving fast. Shit.”

From a side street appeared a cloaked and hooded asura, flanked by a charr and a human—bodyguards, also cloaked, and armored. They were moving at a very brisk pace, headed for the front door of the Maiden’s Whisper across the plaza.

Cordelia put her eye to the scope, trying to control her breathing as she struggled to keep her reticule far enough ahead of the speedy asura and his men.

“Easy, Miz,” Mozu whispered in her ear, and regretted it, as it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Mozu quickly brought her own rifle to bear, hoping that she didn’t have to shoot. Not out of any moral compunctions, but rather the simple fact that Cordelia’s rifle was fitted with a suppressor, while hers was not.

“You’re clear to shoot.”

“Fuck,” Cordelia hissed again, “I can’t keep him in the fucking sight. Fuck!”

Mozu quickly swept the area in front of the Maiden’s Whisper. The crowd was denser there, but there was also more light, and the asura and his companions would naturally slow a bit as they climbed the few steps up to the door.

 Light. An idea hit her suddenly.

“Miz, the front of the tavern. See the lantern there?”

Cordelia abandoned her target and sighted in on an oil lamp hanging from a post a few meters from the entrance to the Maiden’s Whisper. “Which one?”

“Doesn’t matter. Shoot when I tell you.”

Cordelia took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Mozu tracked the asura.

_Just a little closer . . . come on, you little rat._

“Fire.”

Below, the oil lamp suddenly exploded in a shower of glass and burning oil. The asura and his bodyguards froze, and spun to deal with what they assumed was a sudden threat.

The real threat moved her reticule onto the asura and squeezed the trigger. Cordelia’s rifle let out another sharp crack, and the Inquest agent slumped to the ground. His human bodyguard spun around in horror, suddenly spattered from behind with brain and blood.

“Good hit. Let’s go,” Mozu clapped Cordelia on the shoulder, and could feel the woman trembling as the crowds below shrieked and yelled for the watch. “Come on,” she hauled Cordelia up by the arm and got her moving. Mozu stopped to retrieve the two spent shell casings, and they fled from the rooftops.

Cordelia was silent as Mozu led the way safely home, and they dropped their rifles on the kitchen table.

Cordelia sat and put her head in her hands. Mozu rubbed her shoulders.

“Fuck, Mozu. I’m so sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this sort of thing and—“

“Hey, easy.” Mozu wrapped her arms around Cordelia and held her close. “We did what needed to be done, and the next time they ask you to do this, you can tell them to shove it and get someone else.”

“Right,” she laughed and wiped her eyes.

“Why don’t you head upstairs,” Mozu suggested and gave her a gentle push, “take a bath and I’ll bring some drinks up.”

“I have a better idea. Let’s get dressed up and go out.”

“Sounds good.” Mozu poked her head out of the kitchen doorway and called up the stairs after a moment. “Uh, let’s maybe not go to the Maiden’s Whisper.” She heard laughter from Cordelia’s bedroom and smiled as she collected their gear and headed for the attic.

       

“Gods save me, stand _still_.” Mozu was fidgeting as she stood upon a low stool. Cordelia was doing a final fitting of her dress for the upcoming ball at the Van Holstens’, and the sylvari was being anything but cooperative.

“Isn’t this a bit low in the back?”

“It’s supposed to be.”

“But—”

“ _Mozu_ ,” Cordelia snapped, “enough already. This is what you’re wearing. You have no idea what the women at this party would pay to look half as good as you will, so _please_ , just shut up and let me finish.”

       

They arrived at the Van Holstens’ massive townhouse about an hour after the time indicated on the invitation. Cordelia was hardly surprised to see that they were far from the only ones to show up fashionably late.

Brightly costumed ceremonial guards stood outside, checking invitations and welcoming guests. “Good evening, ladies. Ah, Miss Weatherby, good to see you. Please, head inside, and up the staircase.”

Up a huge, carpeted marble staircase they climbed to a pair of ornate doors that led into a large parquet-floored ballroom teeming with the upper crust of Divinity’s Reach society. Cordelia and Mozu hesitated in the doorway, both regretting coming for many of the same reasons.

Cordelia was understated and elegant in a simple halter dress of iridescent deep green fabric. Her hair flowed in large and ornate ringlets, woven with tiny pearls to match the earrings she wore.       

Mozu gazed around the room, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable. In stark contrast to the ostentatious and occasionally garish gowns that seemed all the rage, she wore a long and form-fitting dress of ivory brocade with a very low back and a long slit up one side. Cordelia had given her elbow-length gloves to match, along with a black velvet clutch. She thought Mozu looked absolutely stunning, and wondered if the effect would be completely lost on this crowd.

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Cordelia said through a fixed, unnatural smile, and took Mozu by the arm, leading her into the throng of partygoers.   

Less than an hour later, Cordelia was shocked and appalled beyond measure, and Mozu close to tears. The men had been, at worst, coolly polite, but many of the women had been terribly condescending to Mozu, and some merely treated her as a curiosity, as if she were some rare animal that Cordelia had brought along to show off.

Cordelia cursed under her breath for the thousandth time that evening as Mozu smiled politely and excused herself from facing another barrage of rude or overly personal questions. Cordelia followed after her as the sylvari fled toward the bar in the adjoining room, and she hurried to catch up.

“I am _so_ sorry, Mozu.” Cordelia took her hand.

“It’s fine,” Mozu lied badly. “I’m having a wonderful time.”

“You are most certainly not.” Cordelia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am most certainly not. I’m sick to my stomach for having brought you here, and exposing you to these awful, awful people.”

“Whiskey sour, please,” Mozu said to the bartender and turned back to Cordelia with a faint and very fake smile on her face. “No, really,” Mozu assured her. “Go mingle. I just need to rest a bit.”

Cordelia scowled. “There are a couple of people I actually need to speak with here, and then we’re _leaving_. Stay here and hide from those harpies—I’ll be back shortly.” She kissed Mozu on the cheek, then turned and stormed off. Cordelia got about ten paces and spun around. “You really _do_ look amazing tonight,” she called, and, fighting back tears of her own, left Mozu at the bar.

“Maybe it ain’t my place to say so, Miss,” rumbled the bartender quietly, “but I can’t say I disagree.”

Mozu turned, expecting to see scorn in his eyes and face yet more mocking, but he just wiped his grand moustache nervously. “Stick here with me,” he smiled and winked. “This is where the real action is anyhow.” Mozu laughed for the first time that evening, and chatted with the heavyset fellow in between drink orders as she waited for Cordelia to return and this ordeal to end.

A rich and refined voice from behind her inquired of someone nearby, “Pardon me, miss, this may be a strange question, but are you perhaps the girl with the hound?” It took Mozu a moment to realize that the voice was addressing her.

She turned, and her breath caught in her throat. A torrent of memories and visions of her Dream washed over her—hazy flashes of a visage of absolute malevolence that knelt at Caderyn’s feet in grand ceremony—and it was all she could do not to scream.

Looking very pleased, a kindly and questioning smile upon his face; looking for all the world like a dapper, stylish gentleman in his simple white shirt, lacking either tie or ascot, and open at the collar; in his well-tailored suit and vest with golden chain and pocket watch, stood Olcán, Knight of the Rose, Viceroy of the Nightmare Court.


End file.
